


impulse

by perlaret



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Almost-Fandom-Bicycle Syndrome, Alternate Title: Poe Dameron Fails Miserably at Social Distancing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, M/M, Pining, Resistant to Sex Pollen Because of Actual Feelings, Sex Pollen, Touch-Induced Aphrodisiacs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: Poe comes back from a mission and everything's fine. Except... no one is fine? Everyone is acting very strangely. Like they're into him.Everyone except Ben Solo, that is.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59
Collections: The Kylo|Ben x Poe Fanworks Exchange 2020





	impulse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JakkuCrew (fromstars)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/gifts).



Here’s the thing. Poe gets a lot of compliments on his hair. It can get a little weird at times, but it’s not unheard of, and admittedly, it’s not unflattering either.

 _Weird_ is when, completely out of the blue, Snap Wexley starts stroking his hair, just as they’re getting ready to disembark onto base.

Poe is tired and admittedly still a little jumpy from dodging First Order blaster fire all day, so he figures he can be forgiven for the way he starts halfway out of his seat before he realizes who’s touching him. Poe relaxes after a second, his nerves cooling.

“What? Is there a bug or something?” Poe asks, batting Snap off when he keeps at it.

“You have really nice hair,” Snaps says, as though transfixed. He makes another go at Poe’s head, which Poe evades, laughing incredulously.

“Okay buddy. Did you hit your head or something?” he says, getting to his feet. It’s a strange joke, but it’s been a long day, so Poe humors it. “Get yourself checked in the medbay, alright?”

He doesn’t really think about it twice as he leaves the ship. It’s been a really long day.

It’s about to get longer.

* * *

It doesn’t really clock at first, to be honest. 

Poe gives his debrief to the General just like always, and if she seems a little stilted or distracted, that’s easily excused. She’s got a lot on her mind and even more on the line. The cost of war and all that. She gives him a lingering look as he’s wrapping up.

“Everything alright, Leia?” he asks, because it’s just them, and he’s not sure how to place her expression.

“Hm? Oh,” she says, blinking twice. “You just reminded me of... never mind. Dismissed.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine. Go,” she says, and shoos him out with surprising urgency. 

“Huh,” Poe reflects once he’s on the other side of the closed door. “Okay.”

* * *

Connix is usually pretty steady, as far as things go. She’s had his back now through thick and thin, but honestly, they aren’t really the kind of friends who give each other back rubs. 

Poe eels his shoulders out from under her hands as gracefully as he can manage, which admittedly isn’t very.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Connix turns distinctly pink, which pretty much only happens when she’s had a few, but it’s very much the middle of the day and she’s not exactly the day-drinking type. 

“I just thought you could use a hand,” she says, sidling closer. “I know how much you do for us and you don’t get thanked nearly enough.”

If Poe felt uncomfortable before, now he’s ready to climb out of his own skin. “Well that’s nice,” he manages. He realizes she’s touching his hand for some reason, and then it hits Poe that some sort of unwelcome pattern is appearing. He pulls away, the back of his hand tingling uncomfortably. “Winning the war will be thanks enough, though.”

“Still,” she says, and stars, did she just bat her eyes at him? “Don’t you ever wonder–”

“Nope!” Poe interjects, and quickly improvises. “Kriff, I just realized. I forgot to tell the General something important. I’ll catch you later, Connix!”

He doesn’t really give her an opportunity to respond and beats it out of their makeshift command center. He’s barely had time to rub two thoughts together and try and figure out what’s going on (nothing good, probably) when he rounds the corner and runs headlong into Ben Solo.

“What the hell,” Poe says, stepping back quickly. It’s one thing for Connix and Snap to start touching him, but supposing the two events are related, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what the notorious ex-Darth Asshole considers affectionate behavior. The idea of those long fingers twisting through his hair, his nails dragging over his scalp, is not something Poe is looking to dwell on.

“Most people just say ‘hello,’” Ben replies, striking an unimpressed figure as he crosses his arms and glares down his long nose at Poe. 

“Other people say ‘excuse me,’” Poe counters after an awkward beat, and then quickly skirts an arc around him. He can barely tolerate Ben at the best of times. Now doesn’t seem like the time to switch up that track record.

Ben only scoffs as he passes by, emanating his usual miasma of condescension, and Poe finds himself caught between annoyance and relief as he continues on his way. Good to know that Solo retains the same insufferable demeanor as always. It’s a good sign. 

Maybe he’s just imagining things.

* * *

He is not imagining things.

Look. Jess is prickly even on the best of days, and Suralinda has been giving him a hard time for years – suffice to say, Poe knows what’s normal for them. Never mind the fact the two of them have been playing this weird cat-and-mouse game (the one that Poe has been desperately trying to ignore for months, thank you), but they aren’t exactly the kind of people who hit on him for laughs. And definitely not for serious.

And... yet.

He doesn’t really think it could get worse from there. At this point, all Poe wants to do is grab something to eat, hit the fresher, lock himself in his bunk and hopefully sleep off whatever strangeness has overcome his friends. It’s off hours, so he chances ducking into the mess for a meal box, figuring it’ll just be in and out.

His luck holds. Bad luck, that is.

“Hey, Karé,” Poe sighs, tucking his food container under his arm. 

“You look a little worse for the wear,” Karé says, throwing him an amused look. “Everything good?”

Poe hesitates, trying to feel out the vibe between them. But it’s just Karé, same as always, watching him with a raised eyebrow that’s slowly creeping further up her forehead the longer it takes him to respond. It feels... normal. That’s refreshing.

“It’s been a day,” Poe lands on, sticking to cryptic. “By the way, do you know if Snap ever made it to the med bay? He was acting a little off earlier.”

“Dunno,” Karé says, leaning a hip against the counter and tilting her head thoughtfully. “Haven’t talked to him much today.”

Poe rubs at his cheek wearily. “Well, do me a favor and let me know? I’d like to know he’s taking care of himself. Things went a little haywire. Not exactly the most hospitable planet I’ve ever visited, and then there was the First Order battalion–“

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Karé muses, a strange little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. 

Poe’s stomach drops. He’s got a bad feeling about this.

“Uh?” he says, reaching for eloquence and failing miserably.

Karé slides forward a step. She looks – what the hell? – bashful.

“So, Snap and I have been talking,” she says.

“Is that so?” Poe says, inching backwards. Which is a mistake, because then he’s suddenly cornered in, and Karé is way too close, and also her hands are on his chest. 

“I think it might be fun to mix things up for once,” Karé says, and the innuendo she’s making is very, very clear. 

“You know, I’m going to wish you good luck with that–“

“Maybe you could help me out?” And then, sweet hell, she’s leaning in to kiss him, hands sliding up around his neck. 

Poe ducks away, abandoning all pretense of politeness. His skin feels like it’s on fire, scalded hot with embarrassment. “Okay! No. Karé– you’re married, okay? And I’m flattered, uh, kind of, but it’s not really my thing, and–wait, is this a joke? Are you all in on this or something?”

“Who’s us? I’m serious. Snap can come too,” Karé says easily, like that solves it. “I didn’t think it was my thing either, but maybe it just took me all this time to realize,” Karé says, following after him. 

Poe catalogues his options quickly. Something is clearly wrong, and if it’s affecting his friends, it’s probably affecting others as well. He isn’t sure why. The food, maybe? But Snap had been off-base with him, and Poe is pretty confident the weirdness started there. He lets the meal box clatter to the ground regardless, just in case. The problem is: Karé is his friend, and Poe is dead certain she’s not in her right mind right now, which means he doesn’t want to escalate. In any sense of the word. But, well, he’s short on options, so when Karé leans in again, Poe pushes her back and sweeps his leg out under her ankles so she stumbles and falls back. 

“Ow, Poe!” She catches herself pretty quickly, which is a relief, because Poe had no intention of hurting her, but it’s enough of a distraction that he’s able to clear out of there. 

“Sorry, Karé!” he says unapologetically, and books it. 

* * *

He makes directly for his bunk, bound and determined to lock himself in and comm Kalonia from behind the safety of a closed door. He’s still half hoping this is a joke, and bringing the doctor into this will probably just make him look like a fool, but his gut is telling him it’s something more, so he’s going with his instincts here.

He’s nearly in the home stretch when another group of familiar faces rounds the corner at the next intersection of hallways. Finn and Rey are walking shoulder to shoulder, Finn laughing boisterously at something, with Chewie close behind.

How _do_ Wookiees show interest in their partners, Poe wonders.

“Nope,” Poe decides, and about-faces into the nearest unlocked room. He slams his palm against the panel as soon as he’s in and sighs in relief when the door slides shut. He slumps a little, letting his forehead fall against the cool metal, idly keeping an ear out for any sign of their passage so he can continue onward.

“Can I help you?” 

Poe starts, making a sharp 18o. It’s Ben again, glowering at him from the narrow cot upon which he’s seated. 

“Wait,” Poe says, and looks around the sparse room, only to realize that he’s somehow managed to let himself directly into Ben Solo’s living quarters. Ben stands as he processes that, and then Poe realizes he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Nope!” Poe exclaims, and turns back to the door, only to be frozen but the unmistakable sound of Rey’s muffled voice on the other side. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Poe chances a glance over his shoulder and is grateful to see Ben shrugging his shirt over his shoulders, still a healthy several steps away. His dark eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed thin and unfriendly. 

“Nothing,” Poe says. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Ben regards him, then shifts his attention to the door. “Who are you hiding from?”

“Can you mind your own business?”

“Sure,” Ben says. Clothing set to rights, he stands still and imposing as a statue, his broad shoulders held stiff and his fists clenched. “But I figure if it’s in my bedroom, it’s probably my business.”

Poe makes a frustrated sound, half ready to take his chances with Chewbacca and the others. Before he can act on that thought, it occurs to him that Ben Solo is the only one so far that day who is acting exactly as expected. He blinks, eying the other man more closely. “Hold on. You still hate me.”

Ben opens his mouth, closes it, and then says: “Excuse me?”

“It’s fine, that’s not important. Hear me out and don’t think I’m crazy,” Poe says, raking his hands through his hair. “Can you just confirm that you _don't_ want to, I don’t know, corner me against a flat surface and touch my hair?”

Ben looks at him for a long, tense moment.

“You’re crazy,” he says.

“Thank the Force,” Poe breathes.

“Are you sick?” Ben asks.

“No,” Poe says. “But I think everyone else is.”

Ben gives him another indecipherable look and then finally gestures at the tiny table and chair tucked into the corner of the room. “Sit. Explain.”

Poe sits. Poe explains. Poe doesn’t exactly like Ben Solo, but none of his usual go-to people have proven themselves untouched by whatever’s possessed the lot of them, and if Ben ends up in the same boat, at least he’s someone Poe can put down without many moral qualms. Vengeance isn’t really his brand, but hey, Poe figures Kylo Ren had been kind of a dick, so.

“The worst part is,” Poe says, summing things up, “is that I can’t tell if something is really wrong, or if it’s some really out there joke. I mean, you seem fine! But hey, you don’t really have a sense of humor. So what do you think?”

“Thanks,” Ben mutters, dry as can be.

“Well?” Poe prompts, when he doesn’t add anything, just sitting there looking pensive. 

“What planet did you say you went to?” Ben asks.

“I didn’t,” Poe says, but elaborates before Ben can give him shit for it. “Eroseas. First Order occupied. Why, you know it?”

“...I do, actually,” Ben says, pressing his fingers over his mouth. It gives him a thoughtful look. Scholarly, maybe, instead of murderous. Nice change, Poe thinks absently.

“You just keep a mental record of every planet the First Order puts their grubby boots on or something?” Poe presses, when he fails to elaborate further. 

Ben’s eyebrows furrow, his lips pursing petulantly. “I visited it once. There were ruins– anyway.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I take it you weren’t in the cities?”

Poe shifts uncomfortably under his newly intense scrutiny. “Why do I get the feeling you know what’s going on?”

“Why do I get the feeling you were rolling around in the local foliage?” Ben replies, shaking his head, and then abandons his post by the bed and approaches. Poe flattens instinctively over the door, but Ben only inspects him, bending his head to better see the folds of his jacket. His dark hair falls over his scarred cheek. It makes for a striking contrast. “There’s a local plant that has a... particular impact on humans. Ah. There.” Ben swipes his fingers over the side of Poe’s sleeve, so quick Poe barely has time to feel the pressure, and when he pulls his hand away his fingertips are orange.

“Oh,” Poe says. He’s been around the block enough times that he’s not prone to easy embarrassment, but his cheeks warm regardless. Moreover, he feels a little sheepish, like he’s going to owe all of his friends an apology, instead of the other way around. “There was this vine with blue flowers and–“ Seeing Ben’s nod, Poe rubs a palm over the crown of his head. He pauses, then checks his own palm. There’s a faint orange cast to his skin too. “Great. So, sounds like I need to hit the fresher, wash my clothes, and everything should go back to normal?”

Ben pauses. “Based on what I recall of the texts I read, I’d recommend a few days in isolation.”

“A few–?!” Poe stops, then groans. “There’s no other way?”

“Hm,” Ben says helpfully. “Well. Mystery solved.” He lifts his hand toward the door, suddenly curt. “Good luck.”

“Hold on,” Poe says, because something’s not adding up. “How come I don’t feel any differently, if I’m covered in this stuff?”

“As I understand it, it’s impacting your body chemistry at this point, not anyone else’s,” Ben says, reaching past Poe for the control that will open the door. “You’ll be fine if you isolate.”

“Wait–“ Poe says, but Ben slaps the panel open, shoves him bodily into the hallway, and closes the door in his face without another word.

* * *

He makes it to his room unscathed and unaccosted this time, but that doesn’t mean he’s left alone.

Poe likes to think he’s a friendly guy, and that people like him, despite some of his more egregious mistakes throughout the years. But he rarely gets visitors in the privacy of the small, glorified closet of a room he gets to call his own. He’s barely out of the fresher, digging through his things for the ration bars he knows he stowed somewhere, when there’s a knock.

“Poe!” Finn calls through the door. “You in there?”

Poe bites back the urge to swear and doesn’t answer. He tries desperately to exude ‘not here’ into the universe, if that’s a thing that can even be done. “Poe? Hey man, I need to see you. Are you there?” Finn raps at the metal twice more and Poe holds his breath until he’s gone. 

He heightens the lock settings on the door once things are quiet, making sure they’re at the highest level of clearance possible. Poe figures that if General Organa comes calling, there are worse problems. He checks his comm next, annoyed to find that Kalonia still hasn’t returned his message. He’s got a handful of other alerts that he decides aren’t worth the headache of playing right now, even if some of them are probably actually related to Resistance work. 

Done, Poe collapses exhausted onto his mattress, resolving to fly back to Eroseas just as soon as this whole thing passes and set the whole damn place on fire.

* * *

He gets snatches of sleep between other visitors, each more insistent than the last. Poe sends an uncharitable thought Ben Solo’s way – if this is how isolation is supposed to help, he’s not really seeing the benefit. Things settle down eventually, to the point where Poe is well and truly fast asleep, when all of a sudden he sits up, wide awake and very conscious that his bedroom door is open to the hall. He jolts to his feet immediately and squints to make out the figure standing in the backlit door frame.

“Who’s there?” Poe demands. 

“H-hi,” Rose Tico breathes, staring at Poe with starstruck eyes.

“Rose?” Poe says, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What the hell?”

“Finn said he couldn’t find you, and I knew I had to see you,” Rose says, holding up the lockpicking mechanism in her hand by way of explanation. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since I saw you in the halls earlier, but you didn’t say hello.” 

“Well, hi,” he says. He doesn't even remember seeing her. Confident that the object in her hand isn’t that terrifying taser thing he’s heard horror stories about, Poe follows that with a hurried, “Bye,” and elbows past her. 

Frustrated, tired, and a little furious now, he heads to the one place on base where there seem to be answers.

* * *

Ben is not happy to see him. 

“It’s three in the morning,” Ben snaps. “Aren’t you supposed to be isolating?”

“About that,” Poe says, affecting a cheer he is desperately lacking right now. “That doesn’t seem to be working like you suggested. So let’s chat.”

He lifts a hand to the center of Ben’s chest to push him back into the room so he can enter. Ben steps back and out of reach before he can exert any force, but he doesn’t look any more pleased about it. Which is fine. Poe’s not feeling very happy right now either. He locks the door behind him. 

“This can’t wait?” Ben asks, voice sharp. His hair is askew and he’s shirtless again. Poe doesn’t let himself spend much time wondering what Ben does in his free time, but he certainly never imagined he was the type of guy to lounge around shirtless when he’s alone. Guess you learn something new every day. He isn’t too hard on the eyes, actually, which is sure a thought that highlights just how tired Poe is right now. 

Poe throws his hands up into the air. “Someone broke into my room! Kind of makes isolating difficult. You’re apparently the only one on this base I’ve been able to have a normal conversation with all day, which is incredible, because we’re not exactly confidants.”

That academic curiosity filters across Ben’s face again, softening the annoyance there. “It is intensifying then,” he says, and then his expression shutters again. “People are seeking you out.”

“Right,” Poe says, relieved he’s finally getting why there’s a problem. “Earlier, you never answered my question. Is there any other way to get rid of this?”

“I couldn’t say,” Ben says, but there’s an edge to his tone that makes Poe doubt that’s true.

“Come on,” Poe growls, his temper clawing its way out of him. He advances on Ben, narrowing the space between them in a matter of steps. “I know you may not like me, and I don’t really care why, but I’m not in the mood for games.”

“I don’t know!” he insists. “Go to the hangar and get off-planet, Dameron. But frankly, it’s not my problem.”

Ben’s ability to evade him is limited by the size of the room, but he tries anyway, trying to angle into the narrow gap between Poe and the door. 

“I don’t think so!” Poe retorts. He cuts him off, closing his hand about Ben’s wrist so he can’t get past. Ben’s breath catches audibly and he yanks away so quickly it startles Poe. 

“Alright man, it’s not like I have the plague,” Poe gripes, but then falters. Ben holds his clenched hand to his chest, his eyes pinching closed. He inhales another long, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, they are dark as a starless sky and as all-consuming as a black hole. 

“Don’t,” Ben warns, his voice ragged. 

“Got it,” Poe says as understanding knocks him dizzy. He sucks in a breath of his own, lets it go on a shaky laugh. His fingers are tingling again, actually. “Kind of thought you were the exception for a minute there.”

Poe has been the subject of Ben’s attention more times than he can count at this point, but never like this. Ben tends to treat him with barely restrained disdain most times, like Poe is just beneath his esteem. Which is pretty rich of him considering it’s Poe who’s got grounds to hate Ben’s guts, not the other way around. But he keeps Poe at an arm’s length that Rey and even Finn have managed to overcome. 

It drives Poe a little crazy, the rare times he forgets to ignore it. He doesn’t understand why.

Well. That’s not true. Looking at Ben, right this instant? Poe is capable of enough honest self-reflect that he definitely understands why. 

Poe eases back until there’s room to breathe again, though his heartbeat hasn’t slowed any.

“Tell me how,” Poe says.

Ben meets his gaze unflinchingly. “You know how.”

The suggestion, once it’s made, is unfailingly obvious in retrospect. A curious little thrill runs its way down Poe’s spine. Like adrenaline, but better.

“Got it. But how is it that you’re the only one who seems to be fighting it?”

“Just because I want something,” Ben says acidically, “doesn’t mean I don’t have the self-restraint necessary to deny a foolish impulse.”

“Yeah,” Poe says. His gaze wanders down Ben’s frame as he thinks that one through. “That tracks.”

“You have your answers,” Ben says thickly. “Now you should go.”

It’s a ridiculous, traitorous impulse, but in Poe’s defense, Ben is half-naked, not to mention tall and broad and pretty striking, as far as the men on base go. The situation is just far enough that side of out-there that Poe doesn’t feel bad about entertaining the notion. It makes him feel warm. He knows it instinctively. If anyone could set him to burning and sear him clean, it’s Ben. 

“What if I don’t?” Poe says, and deliberately intrudes back into Ben’s personal space.

The effect is immediate: that practiced indifference crumbles as soon as Poe puts him on the spot. Ben’s mouth goes slack and soft, but he holds perfectly still, right until the moment Poe reaches out again and rests a palm over his sternum. Poe feels the shudder that runs through him; it sends another set of sparks shivering down his own arm. He wets his lips, tracing his fingers up to Ben’s collar bone, chasing it to the point where it intersects with the long scar that bisects his neck. Before he can follow it much further along its trajectory, Ben clears his throat. Poe can feel the movement of it beneath his fingertips.

“Still want to deny those impulses, buddy?” Poe asks, glancing up. He feels off-balance, on the precipice of something vast and unfamiliar. It’s Ben, he tells himself. This is an awful idea. The electric current racing between them from where skin meets skin is a persuasive counterpoint. Poe bites his lips, refocusing on the spot where he traces a fingernail over the hollow over Ben’s throat. 

Ben hisses, a deeply frustrated sound. He makes a short, abortive movement, nearly reaching for Poe only to hold back again.

“I’m not interested in being blamed for this later,” he says. “You hate me too, remember?”

Poe wrinkles his nose. “You know, you never struck me as the type of person to think things through.”

“You strike me as the sort of person who could afford to more often,” Ben counters. For all of his feints at restraint though, Poe can feel the way he’s subtly leaning into his hand, the way his muscles are twitching under his touch.

Touch. Huh. That’s what’s making Poe burn, his skin prickling with want the longer they hold this position. He could remove his hand, remove himself from this whole situation, take Ben’s advice and put himself up out of atmo until all of this blows over. Ben Solo is infuriating at the best of times, and Poe isn’t sure he’ll ever forgive the guy for who he used to be, but there’s something to be said for early-morning honesty and the fact that Poe has been compelled by him for months now. He wants to peel back the layers and expose whatever man there is beneath all of those prickly defenses he throws up left and right, and maybe… maybe this is the excuse Poe’s been waiting for.

“Let’s call this turning over a new leaf,” Poe says, and then closes the remaining distance between them, bringing himself flush against Ben and letting the challenge stand. If ever there was a time it might be useful for Ben to read his mind again, Poe thinks wildly, this would be it.

Tension holds Ben for a fraught moment longer, and then the scales tip, and he gives into the impulse of it. His hands frame Poe’s face between one instant and the next, and then they’re kissing.

It’s like nothing Poe has ever felt before. If the urgency crashing through him is anything akin to the force that had driven the rest of his friends, he suddenly feels quite grateful nothing went further out of hand than it had. Ben kisses with maddening intent, leveraging his height to bend Poe back until his knees are shaking and he feels like the floor might fall out from under him.

“Bed,” Poe insists, mumbling the word directly into Ben’s mouth. He remembers his feet and crowds in, pressing Ben back until they stumble into the mattress. Poe is momentarily disoriented when Ben rucks his shirt up over his head, and he casts the garment aside, smooths his big hands down Poe’s back, and grabs his ass. Poe groans and lets Ben pull him forward until his thighs are boxed between Poe’s knees.

They rock together, and it’s gratifying to find that, whether by chemistry alone or by further influence, they’re both already hard. Ben’s cheeks are flushed red, and the hunger in his touch is such a ready contradiction to everything Poe’s come to expect from him that it only makes him want more. He bites Ben’s full lower lip and draws it into his mouth, sucks it until he moans. 

It devolves from there, in a tangled, hurried mess of hands and open mouths. Ben’s hands slip further into Poe’s clothes, unexpectedly assertive after all of his equivocating, and Poe jerks up into his touch when he fists his erection. He jerks Poe off like he’s a subject of study, methodically searching out the way to make Poe gasp and shiver, until finally Poe bites him and shoves him off. 

“Not yet,” he says, and goes on his knees. 

“Oh fuck,” Ben swears when the closures of his pants are undone. His cock is heavy and as flushed as the rest of him. Poe licks at the slit, slides his mouth over the tip, taking it slow. It occurs to him that this isn’t the first time he’s knelt before this man, but the circumstances are so altogether different that it’s an impossible comparison. This time, it’s Poe taking Ben apart, shaking him to pieces with the sweep of his tongue and the squeeze of his throat. Ben jolts and shudders under his attentions, pulling at Poe’s hair. The scrape of his nails against his scalp makes Poe groan, and then pull off before Ben can come.

“You like that, babe?” Poe asks, stroking at the muscle of Ben’s thighs and pressing a smug kiss to the jut of his hip. 

The room tips and Poe finds himself pulled up off of the floor and then on his back, Ben’s solid weight over him. “Shut up,” Ben growls. 

“Yes,” Poe breathes, and uses his heels to push Ben’s pants further down past his knees. There’s an awkward, clambering moment as they both discard their remaining clothes, and then Ben has the standard issue lubrication that comes in everyone’s health kit in his hand. Poe doesn’t question how it got there, too busy arching up, relishing the friction of their cocks together, the way the need crashes through him until he can hardly think. It’s single-minded now, an all-consuming desire, and Ben is the focal point of it. “Come on,” Poe gasps.

He isn’t expecting Ben to manhandle him again, flipping Poe over and slicking his lubed fingers over his ass. It’s not unwelcome either. He pushes back onto Ben’s fingers, gasping, but it’s not enough.

“I know,” Ben breathes, even though Poe said nothing at all.

He shifts bodily over Poe, one hand braced next to his head, the other spreading Poe’s ass cheeks as he presses in, fucking gradually deeper with short, deliberate thrusts. It’s slow and tantalizing, and the stretch makes Poe swear into the pillow. It doesn’t hurt. He’s too turned on to feel anything besides the rushing of blood, the sweet, heady feeling of being filled up; Poe fucks back, trying to urge Ben on. Ben moans, drops his other hand and finally gives him what he wants, sheathing himself to the hilt with a decisive thrust. 

“Fuck,” Poe chokes.

Ben buries his face into Poe’s neck. He mumbles something indistinct, but then Poe arches his back and some of the words gain form and sense. “Mm–wanted this for so–” He shudders as he exhales, the syllables that follow lost as he starts to move again, falling victim to the newfound rhythm of their bodies together.

It builds rapidly from there, heat and urgency spiraling further and further out of control, like hyperspace-skipping gone wrong, except, fuck, it feels so right. Ben fucks him into the mattress and Poe lets go, coming all over the sheets with a long moan. Ben follows him through it, breath hot against Poe’s ear, rocking against him until he’s done and pressing open mouthed kisses into his neck.

* * *

It’s been a while since Poe was last fucked, his personal life another casualty in the tide of galactic war. He never expected his dry spell to end with Ben Solo, of all people, but after all is said and done he can’t bring himself to be bothered. 

They’re squeezed in tight together on the cot, which is probably too small for Ben on a normal night, but Poe can’t bring himself to get up and get his clothes back on. Ben is quiet but definitely not asleep. Poe doesn’t have to read minds to be able to sense the tension he’s radiating.

“Did that help?” Poe asks at length, when the pleasant haze that held him has finally abated enough that he realizes he should probably address the wampa in the room.

“What?” 

Poe raises an eyebrow at him. Ben frowns.

“Don’t ask me. Go ask your friends,” he says sourly.

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Poe says, disposing of that idea immediately, and makes it a point to stretch. It makes the mattress dip, knocking their legs together. “Mind if I stay a while longer?”

“Yes,” Ben says.

“Thanks,” Poe says, making himself comfortable.

Ben shifts and sighs but thankfully doesn’t shove him out of bed. Poe indulges the idle impulse to trace the curve of his bicep, drawing links between the freckles and moles that pepper his skin.

“Hey,” Poe says, when a thought strikes him. When Ben ‘hm’s at him, he asks, “What did you mean when you said you’d wanted this?”

Ben has the look of a cornered animal, the lines of his naked body drawn taught. He shrugs off Poe’s touch, rolling towards the wall. “Nothing,” he says. “It was just the heat of the moment.”

Poe goes up on an elbow so he can look down on Ben. He takes in the stubborn set of his mouth, his drawn eyebrows, the stark contrast of his dark hair on the white pillow case. Most importantly, he notices the tight, wary look in Ben’s eyes, like a man waiting for an axe to fall over his neck. He cares, Poe realizes. “I thought you hated me,” he says, a little wonderingly.

Ben looks away, mouth pinched. “I do hate you,” he says emphatically.

Poe shakes his head in disbelief. He’s shaken – the realization, as it congeals, re-contextualizes everything. Ben’s coldness, the clipped distance he maintains, his increasing efforts to avoid Poe and eject him from his presence. 

Ben Solo doesn’t hate him. He _likes_ him. 

Hell.

Bell stares fixedly at the wall as Poe considers him. 

“Yeah well, the feeling’s mutual,” he says, and then lets his hand wander suggestively over Ben’s middle until he’s glaring at Poe again. “Want to go again?” Poe suggests, waggling his eyebrows. “I bet we could find more leaves to turn over.”

“I really do hate you,” Ben reiterates.

“I know, and I’m starting to take it as a compliment,” Poe says, and then bends in and kisses him. For all of his pretenses, there’s no hesitation from Ben at all; he kisses Poe back immediately, with an intensity that gives lie to all of his protests. 

It’s a good sign.


End file.
